A New Direction
by Eets
Summary: This is my version of what could have happened to some of the members of New Directions after they graduated McKinley. Pairings may include: Finchel, Klaine, Brittana, Quick!
1. Rachel

**A/N:** My first piece of Glee fanfic!

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><p><em>Rachel Berry<em>

The tiny brunette felt smaller than ever as she stood in the middle of Times Square, mimicking her actions on that fateful day at Nationals with her old glee club.

No! She reprimanded herself harshly, as the memories of her first trip to New York began to seep into her brain, stupid Rachel! Don't think about Nationals, don't think about… him.

It had been three years now since she'd left Lima, Ohio and moved to the big city and she'd spent those three years following her dreams, like she'd always said she would. Rachel had cried when she opened her acceptance letter from the Tisch School of the Arts. Partly through joy and partly because she knew it was time to say goodbye to the only life she'd ever known. It had never exactly treated her well but still, the idea of the unknown scared her.

The swarms of tourists jostled her as she stood, unmoving, immersed in nostalgia. She'd had to get used to many new things when she'd moved here and the incredible number of tourists was just one of those. Another was the strange way people had treated her.

When she'd first walked into the auditorium for her first drama lesson at Tisch, no one had rolled their eyes or snorted derisively at the sight of her. And it was with a thrill of excitement that the girl realised that her name, Rachel Berry, held no negative stigma here.

So she kept her superiority and diva demands to herself until after first week at the new school. By that time she'd sung; by that time, she already had their hearts. Rachel had _always_ known her voice was something special. Her breath still caught in her throat to think that now her talent was actually being recognised.

Slowly, Rachel drew herself away from her reverie, knowing that it was time to get real. She felt the slick of sweat on her palm and a tight feeling in her chest as she headed towards the theatre. It was time for her first Broadway audition.

Rachel had dreamed of this glorious moment for years. When her agent had let her know that _Wicked_ was holding auditions just a month after her graduation ceremony, she knew it was fate. Her CV was in her bag, neat and proof-read a million times. Rachel had slid her recommendations into the plastic folder with a sense of deep, burning pride; all of the letters were glowing with praise of her, her talent and her work ethic. They were positively exultant.

Steve Lodge settled into his seat quickly; he'd cut it fine, as his wife had said the night before. She shot him a sharp look before handing him a copy of the programme. The show was set to start in five minutes, Steve reckoned he would have time to read his favourite parts of the booklet before the musical began.

_Wicked_: his daughter had been dying to see it for ages so Mr and Mrs Lodge were taking her to Broadway to celebrate her 12th birthday. Steve skimmed his eyes across the cast section, not really reading about the actors but drinking in the black and white headshots. A fair looking young lad, one girl with excessively curly hair, a Jewish-looking girl with a huge grin on her face and the dark young man next to her, who was frowning at the camera. Names caught his eye, Mark Darrell, Susie Price, Rachel Berry, and Kobi Jackson.

Suddenly Steve was aware that the lights had dimmed; he shut the programme as the clashing opening strains of _Wicked's_ opening number filled the theatre. Steve didn't know much about theatre but the pretty blonde playing Galinda had an incredible voice and the girl all painted in green as Elphaba, was an absolute knock-out. He'd read in _the Times_ that they had a new cast in. They'd picked well, he thought.

He blinked for a moment as the spotlight bathed the stage in a softer glow and Steve managed, for a moment, to tear his eyes away from the captivating Elphaba, despite the way the light was reflecting off her dark hair. Instead he found himself examining the ensemble, their faces caught in incredible clarity for just one moment.

One girl caught his eye. Her face was aglow with wonder, despite her solemn expression. There was an intangible but infectious feeling of utter elation about her. At once, one of the pictures the Steve's eyes had flown past connected with one of the names.

Rachel Berry, he thought and he flicked hurriedly to her tiny segment in the programme before the spotlight could shift and plunge her back into obscurity. Yes, it was her first performance on Broadway.

As Steve left the theatre an hour later, tuning out his daughter's babble about dresses and favourite songs, it was still the mysterious Rachel Berry to whom his thoughts were directed. He could tell just from that look on her face that she was destined to succeed and that even if, by some cruel twist of fate, she didn't ever hit the big-time – she'd be content where she was.

He shook his head, clambering into the taxi, people like her inspired him. Steve Lodge was not a creative or passionate man. That girl could perform in the shadows, as part of that group of twenty or so people for the rest of her life and always remain as happy as he'd seen her that night. Performing just out of her sheer love for the art, just because of the feeling it gave her. He respected her.

Rachel Berry, he thought, that's I name I'll be sure to remember.

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><p><strong><span>AN:**Thanks so much to anyone who read this :) The other members of ND that I will definitely write about are: Finn, Quinn, Kurt, Puck, Santana and Brittany. I might also write a little bit about Mr Schue.

Reviews are utterly adored, especially as I've never attempted to write Glee before.

Elle xx


	2. Finn

_Finn Hudson_

He kissed her with as much passion and love as he could muster, trying to convey everything he felt, and had ever felt, for her through this one last act of intimacy. As they broke apart it was hard to force himself to look into her eyes.

They'd always been his weakness; those velvety brown, puppy-dog eyes of Rachel Berry. Right now they were full of regret and goodbye, swimming with tears. Of course they were both sad and both grieving but they also had both known this was coming all throughout the incredible past twelve months they had shared together.

Rachel was off to New York and Finn had no doubt in his mind that she would be recognised as the star she'd always known she was. The star _he'd_always known she was. And there was no way he could go with her, the way Blaine was planning to move with Kurt.

Finn Hudson was not a star. He remembered what he'd said, just before making the second best decision of his life. "I'm not afraid to be called a loser because I can accept that's what I am." It was very ironic that joining glee club was the only thing that had ever made him feel like this wasn't true. His best decision? Kissing her on the stage at Nationals; he didn't give a damn if it had cost them the competition – she was worth it.

No, he wasn't a star but something Finn knew with all his heart was that he was more than _this_. He was more than Lima. He was more than taking that apprenticeship with Burt, no matter how kind and well-meaning the offer was.

He was a leader, that's what glee club had taught Finn Hudson.

Rachel kissed him softly one more time, "I'll never forget you, Finn. And if you don't keep in touch, then I will hunt you down and kick your ass!" She waved her finger at him, making him chuckle softly. Rachel was so funny, it killed him the way the people in this town treated her. That was just one of the many reasons why he knew he had to let her go. They'd recognise her for what she truly was in New York, they'd _see_ her.

Finn turned back to the rest of his fellow glee-clubbers, the majority of whom had graduated alongside him just a few hours ago. He'd already bade most of them farewell. Some of them, like Puck and Quinn, had laughed at his melodramatic adieu believing that he would be remaining with them in Ohio.

Little did they know. Finn felt a twist of guilt in his stomach; he'd contact them later on, he really would. But if he had to explain it to them all now, he knew they'd try to stop him and he knew he'd never be able to leave. Only Rachel and Kurt (and therefore Blaine, by extension) knew his real plan.

However, there was one person to who Finn had not said goodbye. He walked towards him, his friend and mentor and inspiration, with arms outstretched. The two men hugged tightly.

"Mr Schue, I can't even tell you what you've done for me over the past few years," The ex-quarter back was embarrassed to hear his voice shake with repressed tears at the idea of leaving his teacher.

Will shook his head, still gripping the back of Finn's letterman jacket. "No, Finn, _you_ can't understand what teaching you kids and how much watching you all grow as individuals has taught me. It's so strange to see you now, all adults. I know this is it, that you're all leaving me for good because Finn, you're all going to be _so_ successful. I swear."

Finn pulled away from the embrace and looked at his teacher solemnly. "You're right. I am leaving, hardly anyone knows. I'm never coming back. You've taught me that I'm more than this. I don't want to be a superstar, hell! I couldn't _be_ a superstar even if I wanted. But whatever I do end up doing, I just can't do it here."

The choir teacher nodded understandingly and watched as his former pupil walked away from him slowly. Will swallowed hard as a tear ran down his cheek; he so wished he could have been as brave as to do what Finn was doing. Staying in Lima had ruined his life in many ways.

It was two o'clock in the morning, Finn's alarm buzzed almost silently but he was already awake. He grabbed his sports bag and suitcase, packed with all the things he was taking into his new life. He tried not to cry as he looked round his room at all the things he was leaving behind.

On his bedside table stood a picture of Rachel; it was the most beautiful picture he'd ever seen. The camera had caught her at the exact moment that she looked up from the sheet music she'd been studying intensely. Rachel was still looking down, her eyelashes sweeping her cheeks but her lips were curved into that gorgeous laughing smile that Finn would miss so much.

He reached out a hand involuntarily to grab the frame but stopped himself. He _had_ to let her go. Instead he slipped the photo beside it into his bag. This photograph showed Finn in the centre, one arm hugging his mom and the other slung over his step-brother and best friend's shoulder. Blaine stood beside Kurt, Burt on his other side. All five of them were pulling stupid faces. They'd done a sensible shot too, but they all preferred this picture.

The lanky teen shuffled down the stairs as quietly as he could, placing an envelope on the table before heading to the front door.

_Mom, Burt, Kurt,_

_I'm so sorry for leaving like this, in the night without saying a proper goodbye. I had to go though, now, or else I'd never leave at all and I just can't spend my life in Ohio. I'm heading to Washington. Remember when I went on a class trip there in 8__th__ grade, mom? I loved that place. _

_Just because I've left like this it doesn't mean I don't want to see you again. It would have just been too hard to say goodbye to your faces – I'd never have been able to go._

_Here's my new mobile. Ring me when you read this. I'll give you my new address when I rent an apartment. You've got to promise to come and see me._

_I love you all so much._

_Finn._

His hand was on the latch of the front door when he heard a soft voice say his name. He turned to see Kurt standing on the stairs looking paler than ever in the moonlight. It bought a loving grin to Finn's face to see Kurt's hair lathered in an overnight conditioner; he'd miss him like hell.

"I'll miss you, you lumbering giant."

"I'll miss you more, you porcelain doll."

They closed the distance between them, Finn locking his brother into a bear hug and carefully avoiding the pink stuff covering his hair.

Kurt sniffed slightly as they broke apart. He couldn't help the tear that rolled down his cheek as he watched his big brother's car disappear round the street corner.

However Finn knew he'd made the right choice. His stomach leapt and flipped at his car zoomed past the sign.

_Thank you for visiting Ohio: so much to discover._

He was free.

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><p><strong><span>AN:** So Finn's is a little more vague but I just felt that all we needed to know was that he didn't become a 'Lima Loser'. I just think that was really important. For those who care, I think Finn went on to become a teacher in Washington, like his inspiration - Will. He probably taught sport, seeing as he wasn't exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. He probably helped with choir too.

Up next - Quinn!

Thanks to those who subscribed to the story :) Remember, reviews are the best thing in the world even better than Tater Tots ;)

Elle xx


	3. Quinn

**A/N:** Warning, this one is quite a bit grittier and darker than the previous two chapters. But I promise there's a happy ending. Also, there are some swear words!

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><p><em>Quinn Fabray<em>

She married him although she didn't love him, or even like him and now she had it all. Or so she was told.

It was Quinn's mother, naturally, who had first introduced them. Quinn was in her final year at Owen's Community College where she was studying science. She had wanted to go to a school in Michigan but her mother had insisted otherwise.

Her mother had become quite demanding since Quinn had left school. Mrs Fabray was finding it hard to support such a large house and high-maintenance daughter considering that she had no job. She and Quinn were living on the money their lawyer had clawed from Mr Fabray in the divorce settlement.

And so Mrs Fabray had come up with a failsafe solution: to marry her daughter to someone with money. She had dug her best dresses from the back of the closet and texted some of her old friends from her heyday. Then, Mrs Fabray had schmoozed her way to the top.

Everything, from thereon in had gone completely to plan for her. Quinn was married to Charlie Averton, the mayor of Lima's son, now. Mrs Fabray accepted endless money from her son-in-law, lost her daughter but got to keep the nice house.

Quinn was distraught. She fought and yelled and screamed and kicked things and threatened to run away but her mother just smiled at her so blankly and complacently. The ex-Cheerio was sobbing as she recited her marriage vows and both she and her new husband knew that they weren't tears of joy.

She was thirty-two now. Her hair was as blonde as ever, thanks to her stylist and her teeth as cute and gleaming white as when she was seventeen. She wore dresses and cardies, Quinn was still absolutely beautiful.

Charlie was a crap husband; he was a layabout, neglectful and rude to his wife. He had hit her once or twice before and Quinn was aware of the other women, she had never been stupid. She'd have left him if it wasn't for their four kids.

Sometimes she thought of Finn with burning desire – not for him but his decision to get away, slipping out of Ohio in the dead of night. They exchanged birthday and Christmas cards. Quinn had seen Rachel's name in the local paper when she landed her role as Éponine on Broadway; she'd bitten back a smile as she read the article over breakfast and felt her heart break when she reached the small paragraph about the successes of "New Directions, the glee club at our very own William McKinley High School!".

Then her attention had been grabbed by her youngest, a boy only eighteen months, knocking his cup of juice all across her freshly mopped floors.

"Sam," she sighed, grabbing the cup and setting it up right. Quinn would have gotten him a fresh drink but no sooner had she reached the fridge when four year-old Clara ran into the kitchen, clutching her knee and wailing.

"Mommy! Will pushed me over…" Her sobs reached a crescendo but Quinn didn't mind; she swung the blonde child up high, kissing the skin above the graze gently.

"A kiss and a My Little Pony Band-Aid, huh? That's sure to make your cut better, right?" Quinn smiled softly at her daughter, holding her close. She pressed the Band-Aid onto Clara's knee before leaning out of the kitchen window, over the back lawn.

"William, don't you dare push your little sister! What have I told you about being rough?" She didn't yell; Quinn could never bring herself to shout at her kids, but her voice was full of reproach and disappointment. The seven year-old looked chagrined and apologised swiftly.

This was the pattern that most of Quinn's days followed. Once she got her degree from the community college and soon became engaged to Charlie, she gave up on her hopes of becoming a nurse.

Yet, she never resented a single minute; she loved her children more than anything in the world. It almost scared her how much she felt for them. Her love was an ache, it was so strong. She knew without a single doubt that she would throw herself in front of a ten-ton truck to save them.

Once she'd put Sam down for a nap and settled Clara and Will in front of the television, Quinn would always find time to sneak into the library where Elizabeth would undoubtedly be. Lizzie (as Quinn had insisted everyone call her) was a complete bookworm; her mom loved that and encouraged her habit wholeheartedly.

The two would mostly sit in silence. If they did talk it was to discuss Lizzie's current read. Elizabeth was Quinn and Charlie's eldest child at ten.

Quinn hated it when people described her as a mother of four. The urge to scream at them, tell them the truth about the little girl who she missed unbearably, was almost uncontrollable. Without her Beth, it felt like a piece of her heart was missing. Yet the love she felt in the peaceful moments Quinn stole every day, with her beautiful children content and quiet, managed to soothe the pain somewhat. Quinn always felt so blissfully happy in these moments which made Charlie's crashing reality even harder to bear.

He was impolite, rude, crude and just the laziest man Quinn had ever met. She wished she could just leave, or send him away like her mother had done to her dad. But the children needed stability, they needed the best. And so Quinn needed Charlie.

There was only one thing Quinn knew would force her to leave; if that ass-hole ever raised a hand to one of her babies, they'd be out of that door in seconds. Half of her stuff was already packed.

During his frequent drunken rants, Charlie would often laugh at Quinn's dream of leaving him. "You don't even have anywhere to go! You have no friends, and your mother sure as hell wouldn't take you back, would she?"

No, Quinn thought to herself, that bitch wouldn't. But I have a place that you don't know about, a happy and safe place – the only happy place I've ever known.

Puck was fast asleep when a sharp rapping on the front door woke him suddenly. He groaned slightly at the rude awakening and stretched his hand out to the cold side of the bed, wishing she was there. But she wasn't because, as she reminded him every time she left, she had a husband. Fuck that bastard.

Puck padded slowly through the apartment, a fairly nice place in a fairly nice part of Lima. He made himself a good living as the only non-child-molesting guitar teacher in town. All the mothers swooned over him but he'd never touched a single one. Except her.

When she'd called him, requesting two lessons a week for her son Will, her voice was formal and detached. Puck played along, acting the professional. He knew her so well; he understood that this was her chance to re-evaluate her feelings for him. He also knew that they'd still be there. He had until next Tuesday (Will's introductory lesson) to decide what he, Noah Puckerman, was going to do about it.

Could he be 'the other guy'? Could he be Quinn's second-best? Did he still even love her? Hell, who was trying to fool – he could never stop loving her. He would be whatever she wanted him to be. And she assured him, the Wednesday after Will's introductory lesson when she snuck back over to his flat alone, that he would always be her first choice.

However, for the past five years he'd been stuck in this flat only being able to see her when she could sneak over. She'd had two kids in that time. And still he was content.

Maybe he would have been annoyed if all their affair consisted of was sex but it didn't, although there definitely was some of that. Sometimes they'd just talk over a cup of coffee, one time they worked out a duet to his favourite R.E.M. song and other times they'd watch a film together, Puck always ruining the tense moments with snarky comments.

He understood why he couldn't be _his_ wife and why he would probably be 'the other guy' forever and he never expected the situation to change. That was why he was so surprised to find Quinn on the doorstep when he opened the door, Sam cradled on her hip and the other three clutching suitcases.

Charlie was drunk by the time he got home, which was becoming a more and more frequent occurrence. He knocked over the coat stand as he stumbled through the doorway causing Sam to wake and begin to yell. Quinn, who had spent two hours trying to get Sam to sleep, was furious.

She rarely yelled at the children and almost never shouted at her husband. That night she really let loose. Her torrent of rage woke Clara and Will too; they peered down at their angry parents from the upstairs landing.

Eventually, Charlie's roaring voice even bought Elizabeth out of the library. She observed the scene quietly, making no attempt to stop the fight. And still, her softly spoken words halted both of her parents in their tracks.

"Daddy, please don't hit mommy. You make her really sad sometimes."

Charlie's face crumpled into a mask of pure rage as he rounded once more on his wife. "Who else have you told? Tell me, you fucking whore, who you've told?"

Quinn shook her head. "I haven't told anyone."

"LIAR." Charlie was shaking with rage. Quinn had never seen him so angry before; instinctively she braced herself, ready for his attack.

It never came.

She opened one eye tentatively before realising why her drunken husband hadn't hit her. She was across the hallway faster than he could blink, her perfectly manicured nails clawing at his arms.

"Don't you _dare_ touch my daughter!" Quinn's voice was a snarl as she shoved Charlie away from Elizabeth, his arms still raised, preparing to strike. "Pack your things, kids – _No_, Will, I said pack them. We're leaving now."

Charlie stared at his usually submissive wife in shock before laughing in her face. "Don't kid yourself, Quinnie. You have nowhere to go."

It was Quinn's turn to laugh now, she grinned at him triumphantly. "Oh yes I do."

It was two years to the day that Quinn had left Charlie, having sent divorce papers round next week. The children had stopped crying about having to leave their father within a couple of months; they saw him every other weekend – if they wanted to. Clara and Sam had even started calling Puck "Dad".

And Quinn was exultant. There had been some gossip and dirty looks at first but no one could stand up against the strength of Quinn's smile. Maybe it was for the bets after all, the residents of Lima agreed.

Now Quinn had more in her life than just her love for her children. She had Puck, and the townhouse they'd bought together, she had the dog and her job, working at the old peoples' home a few blocks away.

Now she _really_ had it all.

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><p><strong><span>AN:** Hope you enjoyed it despite the violence etc. I try never to write _unnecessary_ violence/swearing/abuse/general dark stuff but I wanted to make this as realistic as possible - I hope I managed to capture this right.

Sorry for the wait. I think I'll do Kurt's story next!

Reviews are adored!

Elle xxoo


	4. Kurt

_Kurt Hummel_

Kurt trotted up the concrete stairwell, wrinkling his nose disdainfully at the smell of piss that seemed to hover permanently in this building. He wriggled his key in the front door, giving it the necessary moment to unjam before slipping into his (much fresher smelling) apartment and announcing "I'm home!"

Blaine poked his head out of the bathroom, shaving foam still covering half of his chin. "Good day at rehearsals?" he enquired, returning to his shave. Kurt kicked off his loafers and leant against the door frame of the bathroom, watching his boyfriend.

"Well, as 'good' as a day in that sweat drenched pit ever is." Kurt sniffed, turning on his heel and flopping melodramatically on to the sofa. Blaine wiped the last of the cream off his face, rolling his eyes slightly.

He joined Kurt on the couch. "Was Claude still being irritating?"

"Ugh," the skinny man groaned dramatically. "You have _no_ idea Blaine, you're so lucky to work with civilised people."

"Yes, there does tend to be something of a difference between the behaviour of actors and counsellors." Blaine murmured.

Kurt, however, was not really listening; he sat up to face his boyfriend, preparing to tell his story.

"We were doing a dress rehearsal today – well, I say that, more like we were _supposed_ to be doing a dress rehearsal. All that actually turned up to the theatre was the leotards. Oh God!" Kurt moaned theatrically, waving his hands around exaggeratedly as he recounted his day.

"So, we wriggle into these leotards and leggings and of course, I had no problems! You remember the private rendition of _Single Ladies _I gave you that time?" Kurt grinned, Blaine laughed at the memory.

"Claude, on the other hand, well – let's just say I saw a lot more of him than I had ever, ever wanted to. But, it seemed to me he was under the absurd impression that I enjoyed the spectacle of him forcing his many rolls of fat into a skin-tight sliver of Lycra.

So, he spends the rest of the afternoon gyrating and stretch utterly _obscenely_. All in an attempt to catch my eye. It was unbearable. Sometimes I think I ought to quit all together; remind me why I'm doing this again?"

Blaine watched warily as Kurt stood up, pulling a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. He lit one casually, letting the fag hang elegantly between his fingers. He inhaled deeply before letting the smoke pour through his lips.

Blaine had to suppress a very weary sigh. "You're in this production of _Cats_ because you're twenty-seven and you want to be on Broadway. This isn't Broadway but it is a theatre in New York, albeit a small one. This is a step on your way to the top."

Kurt continued to breathe in the smoke.

"For fuck's sake Kurt, put out the damned fag." Blaine rarely ever swore or cursed and his tone was unusually severe. Kurt dropped the cigarette into a nearby plant pot, startled.

"Sorry." The dark haired man ran a hand through his curls and bit his lip. He finally admitted to himself something he'd really hoped was not true; they were drifting apart.

Blaine was a counsellor in a fairly well-thought of practice; he loved his work. Listening to people's problems, really trying to help them out when he could. His work made him very happy although sometimes it was incredibly stressful, seeing people taking their lives in a terrible direction and being powerless to stop it. Some days he came home emotionally exhausted, Kurt rarely ever asked him how his day had been.

They had broken up when they were both twenty and at different colleges; the whole 'long-term' concept had been hard to hold up, especially for Kurt in New York surrounded by other homosexual guys for the first time in his life.

Aged twenty-three, Blaine had just received a rookie job at a good counselling practice in New York. He was always looking out for Kurt on the streets; he'd never forgotten his first love. Finally his searching paid off and they got coffee together. The magic was still there.

Now aged twenty-seven, their major personality differences were starting to become a strain on the relationship as opposed to a joy.

Kurt sat down again, his heart heavy. "I've always loved you, Blaine Anderson," he spoke softly. "Ever since you caught me spying on you." He chuckled softly, a sad sound.

"I loved you too, Kurt." Blaine felt a physical pain in his heart when he realised he'd used the past tense. A dull ache began in his stomach when he realised he'd meant it. "You really were my teenage dream. But we're not teenagers anymore."

Kurt's eyes began to swim, his throat felt tight. Blaine paused for a moment, swallowing thickly.

"We're older now and I think we're too different to carry on together. God, I wish we didn't have to break up but Kurt, we're not right for each other." He could speak no more and nor could he prevent the tears rolling silently down his cheek.

Kurt choked back a sob. "I'll always love you. I know you're right, this isn't working anymore."

"I'll never say goodbye to you, Kurt, not really."

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><p>Kurt cried himself to sleep, every night the rest of that week. He cancelled his appointment at the spa and his missed three rehearsals. There was one date, however, that he could not cancel: his weekly coffee with Rachel.<p>

Rachel had hit the Broadway big time since she'd left Lima. She was currently starring as Christine Daaé in _Phantom of the Opera_. Kurt had seen it five times now. But, despite her star status, she still kept in excellent contact with her best friend from McKinley.

"So, Blaine and I broke up. He moved out on Tuesday." Kurt said numbly as he slid into the booth opposite the brunette starlet. She grabbed Kurt's hand in sympathy; she had sensed their relationship might have been on the rocks.

Rachel smiled softly. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm doing okay. I know it was for the best but he'll always be my first love."

She squeezed his hand softly before changing the subject as she could tell he wanted. Rachel, instead, asked after his work with _Cats_. Kurt's answer was rather disappointing.

"What you need is a better agent." Rachel said in an offhand manner, taking a sip of her latte. "Wait, what if you had _my_ agent? He's an absolute doll! He got me all my best jobs!"

She was suddenly animated, struck by the brilliance of her idea. Kurt just shook his head.

"Too expensive; I'd have a brilliant agent by now if I could afford it. And there's no way I can get one now I have to pay for the rent alone. Of course, Blaine insisted on giving me enough for this month at least."

This news did not dampen Rachel's high spirits, though. She grinned at Kurt. "Move in with me, I have a spare room! You'll have to pay rent, sure but it's not too high."

Both of them knew this was a lie and that Rachel would pay for part of Kurt's rent. He paused for a moment.

"Maybe that _could _work."

"Sing "In My Life" by the Beatles, you do that _beautifully_." Rachel advised, taking Kurt's 'maybe' for a 'yes'. "I'll ring Tom right now."

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><p>Kurt decided he take a stroll in Central Park, a guaranteed hangover cure he'd discovered over the years. His twenty-eighth birthday celebrations had gotten a little out of hand last night.<p>

He had just wandered past Strawberry Fields when he accidentally stumbled against a short figure in a black coat.

"Ah, I'm sorry," Kurt murmured. The man turned to look at him, adjusting his red and navy scarf.

"Kurt?" the voice was a familiar one and full of delight.

Kurt looked up at Blaine and smiled. "Blaine, how are you? I haven't seen you since you moved out."

Blaine smiled at his ex-boyfriend. "I've been great. The counselling's still going really well for me and… um, well, I'm dating that guy we met at one of Rachel's parties. Matt, do you remember him? He's a dentist. We've only been together a couple of months…"

"But it's going well? I'm really happy for you, Blaine." He meant it. "Actually, it's funny we should bump into each other today…"

Blaine laughed. "Well, I can guess why you're here. Walking off a hangover, no doubt! I know you, Hummel! Happy birthday, for yesterday, by the way."

Kurt grinned. "Guilty as charged and thank you. But last night's shindig was also a leaving party."

Blaine cocked his head, eyebrow raised.

"I just got a role in _A Chorus Line_ as Mark Anthony. We're touring some of the states, I leave later today."

Blaine smiled widely and genuinely, hugging Kurt very quickly. "I'm thrilled for you, Kurt, well done!"

They exchanged a few more niceties and bits of new information before Kurt excused himself. "I still haven't packed, typical me!"

They stared at each other for a long moment; Kurt felt himself get a little lost in the hazel eyes he'd missed so badly. He now felt the aching sensation of loss, almost from afar. He'd accepted it now.

Blaine broke the moment with a short laugh. "Well, Kurt, I'll say good luck but I won't say goodbye."

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><p><strong>AN:** My favourite so far. I'm so sorry I broke up Klaine! Don't hate me forever! I think Blaine is the most perfect first boyfriend for Kurt and I hope they don't break up before the end of Season 3 but I don't think they're a 'forever' couple - forever friends though!

Reviews are the best thing in the world and they make me write SANTANA'S chapter a lot quicker ;)

Elle xx


	5. Santana

_Santana Lopez_

Santana rolled her eyes disdainfully, turning her face away from the sobbing young woman in front of her.

"Whatever, Amy," she sighed. "It was never anything serious. You can just leave now, okay?"

"Santana," the other, blonde girl whined the name. "I thought we had something really great going here."

Santana laughed shortly and harshly. "Well then, you must be _crazy_," she dragged the word out to several syllables. "Come on, it was obvious this was a dead-end relationship."

She walked into the lounge, still talking and wishing her ex would just hurry up and get out. "Hadn't you heard? All of _my_ relationships are dead-ends."

Santana heard the front door creak open and the sound of a suitcase rolling away. Finally, the door slammed shut and the Latina allowed herself a small smirk.

She had moved to Boston after graduating and had just picked up odd jobs, making money where she could. Sometimes Santana was a dance teacher, she sang in smoky bars, once she had even worked as a waitress. Now, however, she had found her true calling.

Santana Lopez was one of the best personal trainers in the city; she was harsh and cruel but she _always_ got results. Santana loved it. Getting paid to shout at people who just wanted to look as hot as she did? Perfection.

She had a roomy apartment and a string of lovers; Santana always meant more to her girlfriends than they did to her. At twenty-five, she felt she ought to be looking to settle down but she just couldn't seem to find anyone.

Others had accused Santana of being a 'soulless harpy, incapable of loving anyone or anything'. This might have unsettled her somewhat if there was any possibility of it being true. _Any_ sane person would be scared if they thought they could never love.

But Santana did love, or she _had_ at least.

She wandered slowly into her kitchen, over to the fridge. There was a dark coloured card stuck there with magnets; brightly coloured silhouettes of dancers covered the cardboard. Santana unpinned it, flipping it over in her hand.

It was an invite to a dance show in LA. It was a mass-printed card, with a stiff impersonal request for the recipient to travel to LA to watch this dance troupe perform. The show was that weekend.

Santana had actually received the card last month, not intending to go to the show at all, but was still reluctant to throw the invite away entirely. She scuffed her toe against the pedal of the trash can; it was going in the bin once and for all.

If Brittany Pierce thought she could just chuck Santana a stupid, impersonal invite to see her show and expect her to come running, across the whole country, then Brittany fucking Pierce could think again.

At the start of their senior year at McKinley, Santana had been _so_ sure they'd be together. They were soul mates, they loved each other! After all the emotional turmoil Santana had been through in trying to accept her sexuality, she was finally ready to come out with Brittany by her side.

Which was why seeing Britt go back to that _cripple_ had hurt her so much. The blonde had seemed to think that Santana was content just to know that her love was returned, that Santana would just sit around and wait while Brittany had her way with whoever she damn well wanted.

The next few months that followed the reunion of Brittany and Artie were… rough. Santana went 'off the rails' a bit, or so her parents said. Her bitchiness increased tenfold, anyone who dared to even breathe incorrectly around Santana would be subjected to a terrifying, screaming rant.

She tore people down. In those few months, she became more feared than Sue. There was a rumour that even the infamous cheerleading coach avoided Santana, scared of her vicious mood swings.

However, after four months of this rage and soul-destroying pain that Santana had felt, she somehow managed to resign herself to a life without Brittany. She sobbed until she felt empty when she realised that they would never be together but after that she kept her head down and just concentrated on getting decent grades, returning to her normal and merely snarky self.

Santana had realised, as she sobbed her hurt away, that they were _not _soul mates and that her love was _not_ requited. There was no way Brittany could return her feelings in the same way, otherwise they would already be together. Santana could not bear to be with anyone other than Britt, who obviously didn't feel the same way.

So she had to forget about Brittany who could clearly not give Santana the love she needed. That was what she told herself, anyway.

Her hand was over the trash can, about to drop the card when she noticed something suspicious. Santana straightened up and lay the invite on the counter top.

On the front of the black card was a message. It was written in blue biro and was, therefore, almost invisible. Santana peered closer and felt her heart skip a beat as she deciphered the note.

_I really hope you can make it my show, San. I know it's a long way but I really miss you! Love from your Britt Britt xxxx_

Within half an hour Santana was packed and ready for a trip to LA. The airplane tickets she'd managed to procure were horribly close to the toilets, cramped and squeezed right next to a large family party but she didn't care.

_Brittany missed her_. Suddenly all her teenage emotions came flooding back to her; butterflies in the pit of her stomach, a heart aching need to see her best friend even if that's all she could ever be to Santana.

When the plane finally reached LA, it was the day of the show. Santana felt as nervous as if she was the one performing that evening.

She tried to drag out even the smallest of acts: unpacking, showering, dressing, in an attempt to make the day pass quicker. None of them worked. After half an hour of simply staring at the walls before realising it was still only one in the afternoon, Santana decided to do some sight-seeing.

She had never seen the city of LA before and she was pretty impressed. It was much more modern, Santana felt. Time passed much quicker as the former-Cheerio wandered round the town, taking in the atmosphere of the place and looking out, in vain, for glimpses of TV stars.

Eventually, she settled down in a Starbucks, sipping her latte contently. Santana doubted anything would come of this dance show; she probably wouldn't even get to speak to Brittany. However, maybe it was time for a change in Santana's life?

LA seemed like a lively place and there would always be a market for personal trainers here. Perhaps it _was_ time for Santana to settle down somewhere, but somewhere away from Massachusetts…

Finally, six o'clock arrived. Santana had dressed carefully and her make-up was perfect – just in case. By the time she got there, a queue had formed outside the doors of the theatre where the performance was being held. Santana fingered her invite nervously as the crowd inched forwards.

Finally her card was stamped and she was let into the foyer to wait until the start of the show. Other people had congregated into groups, family of the dancers and friends who had come to see the performance together. Santana stood alone at the edge of the room by a corridor leading into the depths of the theatre.

A man with a video camera was wandering through the crowd, filming the masses of people waiting in the theatre. His lens swung in Santana's direction, she prepared to look away and bat off his questions when she realised he was filming someone in the corridor behind her.

Some of the dancers had left their changing rooms and were huddled in the hallway, there was obviously some sort of access to the stage there. A few of the girls were waving to loved ones down in the foyer before filtering through a door and out of sight.

Santana gripped the side of the wall unthinkingly, that familiar adolescent fluttering in her stomach again. She missed her so much; she had underestimated just how much one small glimpse of Brittany would mean to her.

Another set of girls appeared, giggling with one another. One heart-stopping figure turned her head to scan the crowds, obviously looking for someone. She was in a fluorescent pink top, bright blue shorts and grey leggings. She was wearing purple arm-warmers too, the familiar gesture made Santana's smile grow even wider. Brittany's hair, blonde as ever, was pulled into a tight ponytail, flicking as she turned her head.

Her smile as she finally saw Santana, hovering nervously at the corner with her hands gripping the wall, was radiant. Britt waved enthusiastically and blew her best friend a kiss before disappearing backstage.

The show passed in a blur for Santana, only one figure stood out to her. Her heart felt overwhelmingly full of love again; she'd felt so empty since senior year, this new overload of emotion was strange to her.

Santana stepped out of the theatre, blinking in the dusky light after spending two hours in the darkness of the building. She watched as people she assumed were family of the dancers headed over to a stage door. The Latina was about to stride over too when her attention was diverted as she noticed a person watching her from the opposite side of the street.

Without pausing to think, Santana's feet were already moving towards Brittany, also trying to close the distance between them. They stopped two metres apart.

"Britt Britt…"

Brittany bit her lip before breaking into a teary smile. "I knew you'd come, San. I've missed you so much! It hurt even more than the time I had to go and see that misogynist…"

Santana sniffed and laughed quietly. "I missed you more."

"No, San, you don't understand. I think I _realised_ something because I miss you so much. See, I miss you a _lot_ more than I miss anyone else; more than Artie and even more than Mr Schue.

"I think it's because I don't like being _away_ from you, San, which is because I want to be _with_ you."

Santana looked at Brittany directly for the first time in seven years; Brittany stared right back, both of them communicating the things they'd never been able to convey properly out loud.

And neither of them broke that eye-contact until the moment their lips touched. The Kiss they had both been waiting for all their lives.

It didn't disappoint.

* * *

><p><strong><span>AN:** Britana is endgame, okay? RIB I'M TALKING TO YOU.

I think that might be all the students I'm going to do! If you have any requests, feel free to let me know when you review - because, obviously, you're going to review, right?

I _may_ do a catch-up on Will, so look out for that.

Elle xox


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